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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738214">frequently used phrases</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose'>Poose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>bear mode [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Class Differences, Don't fucking touch me, Edward Woofed, Hook-Up, Jealousy, M/M, Shame Edward Little Power Hour, Shyness, Solomon Messaged, complicated adult emotions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:40:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern-day Scruff hookup leads to Solomon and Edward doing butt stuff on the reg. Feelings no one asked for or wanted!!! Fuck this!!! Fuck everything!!!!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lt Edward Little/Sgt Solomon Tozer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>bear mode [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>frequently used phrases</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/gifts">trill_gutterbug</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've fallen deep into a Yorkshire pudding pit and don't appear to be leaving it any time soon. Thanks to anyone who enables my weird scribbles in the margins of Terror fandom. You know who you are. My heartfelt apologies to the rest of you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Summer bank holiday weekend means waiting for their go at the pitch for over an hour. Means Bill’s duty-bound for home the second they’re finished. </p><p><em> Pub? </em>He jerks his thumb behind them, away from the park. </p><p><em> Wish I could </em> he grabs Sol from the side, shakes him a bit. <em> But if I leave her to bathtime all on her own?  </em></p><p><em> I get it. </em>Sol hugs him back. <em> She’ll have your balls. Kiss her for me?  </em></p><p><em> Fuck off. </em>Bill gives him a proper shove that sets him to laughing. </p><p><em> And the girls </em> he tacks on. Can't forget about them. </p><p><em>Yeah yeah</em> Bill says, already heading for his sensible car which he'll drive to his semi-detached house in a leafy close-in suburb where Sol is always, <em>always </em>welcome but never quite at home. </p><p><em> Later </em>he waves his mate off.</p><p>Goes back in to join the others but keeps looking at his phone, a nervous habit, despite there not being any messages. They mostly text. Mostly. </p><p>Probably he's abroad. One of his city breaks. Oh, and there have been weddings, too, all over. Backdrops for perfect people to stage their own romances in front of. Or they go further off, because the kind of people who can rent all of Cornwall thrive on all their friends and relations trotting round the bloody continent for the whole wedding song and dance. <em>Italy.</em> It's always some shit like <em>Italy.</em> </p><p>He gets messages through the app sometimes. Late nights seem to make him more forthcoming. He's on there, trawling for whatever's nearby, but he's also messaging Sol.</p><p>Likely it’s the champagne. Sol imagines they're swimming in champagne. Whatever. Sounds too sticky. </p><p>It can’t come soon enough. He’s sunk four pints, lost interest in hanging round for another, on the fence about whether it’s worth messaging a contact of his own. Tommy? William? Sam? Maybe trying his hand with a name he doesn’t know yet. Plenty of potentials in close proximity on one app; a dozen direct matches on the other. </p><p>He stands up straightaway when his phone chirps. The number isn’t even saved as a proper contact but he’s assigned it its own tone. His mam has one, and his sister, and him, too.</p><p>What he could tell you is that from this particular pub it’s a twelve minute rideshare, twenty on the tube with a nice little walk on either side. He’ll call it a cool down, yeah? That tracks. Give him a chance to get his head on straight. </p><p>
  <em> Be there in 20.  </em>
</p><p>There’s a delay when Sol rings, and he's about to text to ask what's up when the door buzzes loud enough to startle him.</p><p><em> Sorry </em> Edward says opening the door to his flat inwards once Sol makes it up the stairs. <em>Didn’t recognise you at first</em>. </p><p>
  <em> Hm?  </em>
</p><p>Edward makes a gesture like a puppeteer. His hair is tousled. His t-shirt is grey. His forearms are tanned. <em>Beard?  </em></p><p><em> Shaved it. </em>Sol takes one big stride up to kiss him, after darting a quick look around to make certain they’ll not be seen on the landing. Not because he’s scared, but because Edward is shy. </p><p>True enough, he breaks the doorway kiss off with a breathy giggle. Sol laughs, too. At Edward’s smile, and the silliness of it all, the pretence, when they know what they’re about, because they haven’t got to be afraid, but also that it means nothing. Nothing more beyond than what it means. </p><p><em>It got to be too hot</em> he says as he braces his hand on the wall, bends down to kick off his trainers off next to the tidy pile of Edward’s own shoes. The long socks are staying on, though, unless he can get a shower in first. There’s a pile of post, unopened, in the entryway; a light burnt out in the fixture overhead. He could replace it if there was a stepladder to hand. Maybe a chair, in a pinch? </p><p><em>Drink?</em> He’s already in the kitchen in front of the fridge, waiting to open it. </p><p>Sol's still preoccupied with the burnt-out lightbulb. <em> Yeah. Yeah cheers.  </em></p><p>The pink bridge of Edward’s nose, his cheeks, are kissed with freckles. He's definitely been abroad. Those are the result of <em>foreign</em> sunshine. Edward opens some beers, lets the caps fall into the double sink, passes one his way. He waits for Sol to take a drink before he does. </p><p>He necks it, reflexively, pauses at the taste. <em>Where’d you get this?</em> </p><p>Edward looks at the red and white label, squints like he’s seeing it for the first time, furrows his brow. <em> Bottle shop </em>he says finally. </p><p><em> Round here? </em>He might stop off there himself, grab a few for the Monday. </p><p><em> Shoreditch </em> Edward says with a casual shrug. <em> I had a client meeting.  </em></p><p>Sol looks away but his blush catches him out all the same. Must be nice to have the kind of complexion that hides such things. Must be nice to tan in places with too many or too few syllables in their names. Must be nice if your summer is one long extended holiday, what with the weddings, the minibreaks, the weekends to see uni friends who are off on archaeological digs, language teaching programmes. Off doing things that sound vaguely worthwhile on paper but really when you get down to it are just different ways of drinking out of doors. </p><p>He puts his free hand on the countertop and waits for Edward to come to him. His first kiss says <em>I’m here I’m ready</em> and the tentative kiss he receives in return is Edward's answer. <em>Hi</em> it says <em>I’m here too.</em> </p><p>Edward tastes of toothpaste underneath the alcohol. His lips brush soft against Sol’s own, his hand tentative, gentle on his shoulder. </p><p>He'll have gone to a class. Yoga, spin, the occasional run outside, otherwise on a treadmill, and showered only on returning home. Not at the gym, in front of other people. Sol knows this because the hair at the nape of his neck is warm, damp along the edges. It makes him a little crazy. He sets down his beer, dips his hand below Edward’s waistband, down the back of his jeans, thrills to find nothing underneath. </p><p><em> Is that how it is? </em>he asks, then sticks the middle finger of his other hand in his mouth. Edward inhales, sharpish, when he takes his temperature. God, what a little shit. </p><p><em> Guess it is </em>Edward mumbles against him. </p><p><em> Yeah </em>Sol asks because it’s not much like Edward to talk, but when he does? Fucking fit. </p><p>Edward slumps between Sol’s body and the countertop, opening his mouth in the most delicious way imaginable. He’s glassy-eyed when he pulls back to look at Sol, bites his lip like he’s about to say something scandalous though he never ever does. </p><p>That’s probably all he’s going to get for now, word-wise. That’s okay. He didn’t come here to discuss current events and culture. </p><p>He came here to kiss Edward’s neck, that soft spot right under his ear, and to pin him up against the marble countertop until he fists both hands in Sol’s shirt like he’s asking to move on. Gladly. He reaches behind his head to pull his striped shirt off one-handed, his other hand now inside the v-neck of Edward’s tee, fingers hard against his sternum. Edward blinks rapidly over at Sol, like maybe it’s too much — he backs off a touch and Edward’s face relaxes, and yeah, that’s the right call — and whines a noise of protest, lowers his chin. </p><p>
  <em> Can you? Um? Leave it on? </em>
</p><p>Sol kisses him full-on, no tongue, just a hard press of his mouth that says <em> anything you want, pet, I’ll give you the world only say the word </em> and with his words says <em>Sure. </em> </p><p>The kitchen kissing grows lazier after that. Edward’s sweet today. He hides his face in the crook of Sol’s neck as he kneads his arse with both hands. Enough time passes that his mind wanders. Will this end in a rushed handjob before they say goodbye? It's happened. When Edward forgets his other plans. A thing for the friend who’d <em>just got engaged — married — was off to Europe — just came back from Europe — went off to America — had only just returned from America — an open mic night for a cousin — a pub quiz with his college friends</em>. </p><p>Sol reckons there’re other reasons why Edward boots him early. Reasons resembling drinks dates at crowded cocktail bars, intimate dinners at tiny, exclusive restaurants. Edward isn’t the type to be awed by a long walk through a park followed by a sit-down in a public garden with a bottle of okay-ish Chianti and some own-brand crisps. He has his own terraced garden just outside the bedroom. He drinks better wine from Tuscany <em>in</em> Tuscany as a matter of course. He has no need for Sol that way. Sol doesn't even know if Edward even eats crisps, for God's sake. </p><p>They kiss until he’s sure they’re both in it for the duration. </p><p><em> You wanna head upstairs? </em>he says to Edward’s ear. </p><p><em> Can you carry me? </em>Edward has his arms slung over Sol’s neck, hands dangling against his upper back. If his rugby shirt were off he’d be able to feel the brush of his long fingers there against his bare skin. If. Fucking <em>if</em>. </p><p>He can certainly try. He hoists Edward up against the counter, and that works out okay. Once he takes a few steps though, it gets harder. Really the stairs are too slippery in his socked feet, and Edward is heavy in his arms. He’s winded when they finally make it to the loft and he sets Edward down, catching his breath, then losing it again when Edward steps out of his jeans and underwear, kicks them up and catches them in one hand. </p><p><em>Could use a new midfielder. </em>Sol says, looking at his bare bottom half. His legs. Runner's legs, really and truly. It's not an idle offer. </p><p>
  <em>What days?</em>
</p><p><em>Sundays </em>Sol says. <em>Usually. </em></p><p>They fall into bed. It's soft. </p><p><em>You’re good? </em> he asks because Edward is all smiles in a way that suggests he’s let his mind drift off, and Sol can’t really say it bothers him, the way Edward gets both his hands around one of Sol’s, presses it between them like he's praying, and blinks up at him, and he knows, in his gut, that he’s hardly the only one — Edward fucks, and he fucks, too, like he <em> does</em>, okay — but you couldn't blame a man for seeing red whenever he thought too hard on it. Despite everything. Even though he’s come over here in dirty kit, fresh from the pitch and the pub. Well. London is filled to the brim with posh boys with abhorrent fringes. Some of them can even give head. </p><p>Easiest thing in the world to fuck Edward. Compared to anything else in his life that he's known before, and probably from here on out. It all makes sense somehow. </p><p>It's easy. It's so fucking easy.</p><p>He leans over Edward’s body to get to the condoms, which are out already on the bedside table. He isn’t going to say anything, isn’t going to think anything. What he’s going to do is undo his shorts and stroke himself through his pants with his thumb, real slow, in a way that will make Edward’s eyes go all wide, that will get him to pay close fucking attention, and when he’s got that he’ll open the packet up with his teeth, unroll the lubed condom over his dick, and while Edward’s digging for more slick say <em>don't mind that</em> and that will give him pause, if he hasn’t been busy getting fucked already this weekend.</p><p>He does. <em>Get up there</em> he says and then <em>go on open up on me</em>. Edward hesitates a moment, but he climbs on up all the same. </p><p>He’s never relaxed enough to be anything but tight. It would take too long, and it seems to make him panicky, being paid attention to like that. But he’ll take a little instruction, and he’ll blush this splotchy pink, on his face but really all over in a way that shouldn’t be cute but manages. It makes Sol feel better about his own tendency to go red. </p><p>Edward tucks his feet underneath Sol’s thighs. It’s a delicate move, getting himself into place, and he conducts himself thoughtfully. Thinking, considering. His eyebrows knit together, that little double furrow between them deepens, like he's concentrating very hard, pink tongue tucked behind his upper teeth, looking every bit like it's hurting him real real fucking bad but then when he's sat down, his bony little arse right flush against Sol's hips, pure relief crests across his face. Sol lets him settle a while, before he bumps his hips up to get Edward going, like he's kick starting a moped. It makes his own balls jiggle. </p><p><em>Grind on it</em> he says and then <em>yeah go on</em> and it takes a good long while because although Edward is pliable it takes him ages to let himself go enough to get into it. He likes to be touched as well, and Sol can do that. No problem. Easy as you like. Help him move, hold his hands, stroke his quivering stomach, pinch him, pink him up a bit underneath that shirt. He'd like to see it but he won't push.</p><p>He puts his hands over the creased tops of Edward’s thighs and says <em>you're so good doing so good you ride me so good</em> and he’s got filthier stuff he could say, words that’d like to have a sailor blush, but while Edward’s dick is red, hot to the touch, he’s quiet, save for these soft deep grunts that make him feel fucking mental, and he says <em>you like it don’t you feels good doesn’t it</em> and hell if Edward isn’t nodding all insensible, adjusting and rearranging his feet, his position and Sol says <em>it’s all right do whatever you like go on Edward feels so good Edward. </em></p><p>Edward licks his bottom lip when he glances up at him, shy underneath his long lashes, and Sol wonders if he's down for feeling a little bit slutty. Might be. Getting fucked open with the sun still shining, when his friends are at the park, in beer gardens, on picnics, and Edward is here instead, pinioned on Sol's dick like he can't get enough. He grabs one of Edward's wrists and says in a low voice <em>you like that dick don't you don't you</em>. Wants to see if he can get Edward to repeat it back, which he doesn't say, he isn't into, but he puts his hand atop Sol's solar plexus like he's steadying himself, and now his face is flushed all the way down to his neck, and Sol says <em>want you to pinch your tits for me</em> and Edward gasps because Sol grabs him right below the waist, hard, so his hands are free to do just that. </p><p>Edward at last says <em>hell yeah</em> in his deep scratchy voice and Sol says <em>there it is babe</em> and Edward trips out with <em>slam me down on your cock</em> and Sol has to, do that and hold him steady there until his balls loosen up enough so he’s not going to spill like a fucking amateur. </p><p><em>Keep going</em> he pants once it's passed <em>fuck keep going</em> because Jesus Christ it's hotter than nearly anything they've done together yet and Sol says <em>babe c’mon it’s good it’s all good take me so good. </em></p><p>Edward does as he's told. Sol’s sensible enough to shift his own shirt up, because he’s got to wear it out again in public after this. Edward’s own t-shirt gets some collateral damage, he thinks, but he’s too busy watching Edward fondle himself, bite his lip and then gasp out his orgasm with one single long, harsh cry, his eyebrows pulled together, his face so crumpled open that Sol can't look away. </p><p><em>That good?</em> Sol asks, when he’s at last caught his breath. </p><p>Edward smiles, wipes his sweaty face against his opposite shoulder, his clean t-shirt no longer quite so pristine. </p><p><em>Yeah, wow.</em> He looks down, concerned. <em>You?</em></p><p><em>Not yet</em> Sol says and Edward is already scrambling to get down on the ground, and he looks good, he really does, his hair dark with sweat, his shirt clinging to him, but he needs to see him up close.</p><p>He pushes Edward back against the pillows. <em>Turn over </em>he says. Edward shifts between his thighs and wriggles onto his stomach. He strokes Edward’s rim, and says, hoarse, <em>you wanna open up again for me</em>, and fuck if he doesn’t, clutching at the pillow and trying to hide in it even as he's presenting himself for inspection. </p><p><em>Hey</em> Sol says, tapping on his shoulder <em>hey come on look at me. </em>And then even though it's dumb as shit, he gets a hand on the back of Edward's head, scratches his nails through the short hairs there, presses him down so he's looking to the side and says <em>let me see that pretty face, hmm?</em> </p><p>Edward's heavy-lidded eyes are unfocused. He wants grounding.<em>You want me to come on you?</em> he says, his dick already heavy in his hand, his orgasm already very much arriving at the station, and Edward gives this shaky little nod that fucks him sideways. </p><p>He wants to lie on top of Edward, fuck him bare, fuck him raw, come balls-deep in Edward, and keep him like that, in that big bed with its fancy sheets, come in him and on him, breed him something sinister, and push his come back inside only to watch it drip out again, wants to lick it up and feed it back to him in slow, punishing kisses, wants to keep him pinned and full and perfect and all for himself. </p><p>Edward's face is dreamy, his hole stretched, gaping. Sol did that. No matter who was here before.</p><p>And that is fucking it he is fucking <em>done</em> for and he stops trying to say anything that makes any kind of sense, stops doing anything but holding Edward down by the back of his head, listening to the way he's making soft little noises in keeping with Sol's own, rubbing up against the mattress though he's got his end off, like he wants more, could take more, could take anything Sol wanted to give him, could take the everything he wants to give him, if only he'd have the courage to ask. </p><p>It hits his arse, which is pale, and his lower back, which is tanned from all those minibreaks and poolside weekends, and Sol rubs it with his thumb against Edward’s hole, but he jerks away from the touch — and not finding anything to hand to clean it up with goes to kiss it up without a second thought. </p><p>He's rolled off Edward's flat backside as he reaches for his jeans to retrieve his phone. Sol winces inwardly. Knew it. He does have a date right after. He's got his bit of rough in the afternoon and now he'll be off, thanks for the fuck, see you in a few weeks maybe. </p><p>No time to curl up, have a second go, kiss the sweaty top of Edward's head. It's fine. He's fine. </p><p>Edward yawns, glances up from his phone. <em>It's a long wait for Thai </em>he says <em>but there's this green curry I think you'd like. I could go for a nap in the meantime. </em></p><p><em>Don’t want to get the sheets all dirty</em> he says, the excuse pitiful as it leaves his mouth. </p><p><em>They’re already dirty</em> Edward says, kicking him with his bare foot. <em>Will you eat tofu? </em></p><p><em>I need a shower</em> Sol says, trying to untangle himself from the invitation, trying not to think on what might happen if he stayed. What it would mean to lie down with Edward nestled up behind him, hot as a coal brazier, to wake up with Edward rubbing up against him, watch him go from sleepy to pleased first thing. Put his feet behind his head and crush his forehead right up against Edward's own, break him, shower with him, eat <em>fucking</em> tofu. Go back to bed and suck his brains out, in the bathroom, in the shower, in this bed, fall asleep beside him, fry him eggs, fix him coffee. Take him to the park, the pub, the quiz night, to dinner, to a wedding, to Italy. </p><p><em>You've got shirts here</em> he says. <em>If you wanted to change. </em> </p><p><em>Have I?</em> Sol asks. You think he'd remember a thing like that. <br/>
<br/>
<em>More than one</em> Edward says <em>take your pick</em>. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>On Tumblr <a href="https://pitcherplant.tumblr.com/">@pitcherplant</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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